Housekeeping
by allthingsdecent
Summary: What if Cuddy had gone to visit House in his hotel room after she dumped him?
1. Chapter 1

There was a knock at the hotel door.

"Go away!" shouted House gleefully. "We don't want any."

Bambi and Tiffani giggled.

A pause. Then another knock.

"Will someone please make that annoying sound go away?" House said, putting Bambi's finger in his mouth and playfully biting it.

In unison: "Please go away!" the girls yelled, collapsing into another fit of giggles.

Instead, the door burst open.

A rather formidable-looking woman was standing there, wearing a business suit, high heels, and a scowl.

Cuddy.

House looked at her. Looked at the two naked girls that flanked him.

"Well, this is awkward," he said.

Unmoved, Cuddy marched toward them, reached down, grabbed a skimpy dress, a skimpier slip, two pairs of do-me heels, and threw them on the bed.

"Party's over, girls," she said. "Get up, get dressed, and get out."

Startled by the scary lady, both Bambi and Tiffani sat up straight.

"Wait a second," House said. "You're not going anywhere. This bitch doesn't get to tell me what to do anymore."

Now they were confused. They looked at each other.

"Get out, or I'm calling the cops," Cuddy said, pulling out her cell phone.

"Stay, or I'm calling . . .Carnell!" House countered, picking up the phone next to the bed.

"Sorry Brock," they said to House, each kissing him on the cheek and getting out of bed.

"_Brock_?" Cuddy snorted. "Really, House?"

"Wait! I'll go with you," House said, popping up after them. He deftly wrapped himself in a sheet. "We can take this party elsewhere."

"House, you're not going anywhere," Cuddy said.

"Like hell I'm not," House said.

"House. . .as your boss, I'm _ordering_ you to stay."

"You're not my boss in this hotel. And—who are we trying to kid?" he gave a derisive chuckle. "You're barely my boss at the hospital, either."

Cuddy put her hands on her hips.

"It's 4 o clock in the afternoon on a Tuesday and you're high as a kite and screwing a couple of hookers in a hotel room. If you think that's not grounds for your immediate dismissal, you sorely underestimate how I serious I am right now."

House looked at her to see if she was bluffing. Her clear eyes met his glassy ones with a steely resolve.

He sighed.

"Ladies, it was truly magical. Help yourself to some lovely parting gifts on the way out"—he handed them both a wad of cash and gave Cuddy an impudent look. "And please know that this was the best 40 minutes of my adult life."

They left.

"Killjoy," he muttered.

But without an audience, he'd lost a bit of his gumption.

"Get dressed," she said.

"What? Suddenly you're modest? I have a better idea. Why don't you take off your clothes, too? I have about five thousand dollars left. Experience says you don't come cheap."

She continued to ignore him, much to his dismay. She sensed that if she remained calm—not overly sympathetic but not overly critical either—he would eventually break down his resistances. She just needed to be patient.

"Get dressed, House," she repeated.

"Whatever," he said. The sheet dropped to the floor. Totally naked, he reached down and slowly started picking up his clothes.

While he was getting dressed, Cuddy began searching the room. She found a bottle of vicodin in the night table, one on the balcony, and another in the mini bar.

She started toward the bathroom.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he asked, limping after her. He was wearing an unbuttoned shirt now, with boxers, still no pants.

She lifted the lid of the toilet bowl, started emptying the contents of the first bottle. As she went to open the second, he grabbed her arm roughly.

"House, let go," she said.

"I may be a pathetic cripple, but I'm still stronger than you," he said.

"I know," she said calmly.

"I need those," he said. He was still holding her arm, but his voice sounded a little desperate.

"No you don't," she said.

"You don't know what I need," he said.

"Not this," she repeated. "Not like this." She looked at her arm. "House, you're hurting me."

He dropped her arm reluctantly.

"You're a bitch, you know that?" he said. But his voice had a defeated quality.

"Yeah," she said. "I know." She emptied the second and third bottle of pills. Flushed the toilet.

House went back to the room, sat on the edge of the bed, put his head in his hands.

"And why are you acting like you care all of a sudden?" he asked.

"Who said I ever stopped caring?" she said, sitting next to him.

"I don't know, it was pretty fucking apparent when you came to my house and sucker punched me the other night," he said.

She looked at him.

"House, I'm sorry. I. ..I think I could've handled that better. In fact, I _know_ I could've."

He met her gaze. "Oh no, you were great. A real champ. A gold medalist. Total decimation of your opponent. The Russian judges gave you a 10."

"You're not my opponent," she said. She put her hand on his shoulder. He flinched.

"Don't touch me," he hissed.

"Sorry," she said.

"And I don't want your pity," he said. "It's meaningless from a heartless bitch like you."

She sighed. His words stung. But she was going to remain steady, stick to the plan.

"House, what are you doing to yourself?" she said finally.

"Living the dream," he said.

"I'm being serious," she said. "A year ago, I found you sitting on the floor of your bathroom about to take vicodin. Are you telling me that our relationship was the only thing keeping you from using this whole time?"

"Jesus, you really do think highly of yourself," he said angrily.

"Well, then, don't give me a reason to think so highly of myself, House," she said back.

"You're forgetting one crucial factor here," he said.

"What's that?"

"Oh, just the tiny little detail of _I_ _thought you were going to_ _die_," he said self-righteously. "In the span of 24 hours, I thought my girlfriend—sorry, my _ex_-girlfriend—was going to die and THEN she dumped me. Addicts have fallen off the wagon for a lot less."

Cuddy looked at her feet. She had to admit that he had a point.

"So this is how you decide to handle it?" she said finally. "The full-on suicidal rockstar-on-a-bender routine?"

"I'm not suicidal," he said.

She looked around the room. The place was a mess and there were empty bottles of booze and pills everywhere, plus a very ominous bow and arrow.

"Could've fooled me," she said.

She got up, started collecting the bottles and folding the strewn clothing.

"You don't have to do that," House said. "They have this thing called maid service. Although if you wanted to go home and get that little French maid's outfit you wore last Halloween, I wouldn't object. . ."

Again, she didn't take the bait. She had expected this all—the insults, the self-pity, the come-ons. In fact, she expected a lot worse. House was too high to really be on top of his game.

"I know the maids will do it," Cuddy said, throwing the empty bottles into the trash and placing the bow and arrow in the closet. "But I can't stand looking at all this squalor. C'mon. Finish getting dressed. I'm taking you home."

"I don't want to go home," he said.

"Why not?"

"Because I like it here."

"What so great about this hotel room?"

"No bad memories," he said pointedly.

"Well, I'm not leaving you alone here."

"I wasn't alone. . .until you had to barge in and ruin everything."

"Yes, I'm sure the Silicone Twins were a great comfort to you," she said.

"They were," he sniffed.

"If you don't want to go back to your place, let me drop you off at Wilson's."

"Is he the one who sent you here?"

In fact, he had.

"He's worried about you, House," she said gently. "We both are."

"I'm a grown man, Cuddy. I get to make my own choices. I _choose_ to stay here."

She didn't know what to do. She had cleaned the room, kicked out the hookers, flushed his vicodin. She couldn't _force_ him to leave.

"Okay, suit yourself," she said. "Are you at least coming to work tomorrow?"

"My team is keeping me apprised of our little cowboy," House said. "They need my brain. They don't need my body."

"I want you back in the hospital tomorrow," she warned. "I've indulged your theatrics enough."

Again, he looked to see if she was bluffing. She clearly wasn't.

"Fine," he said.

"And when was the last time you slept?"

"I'll sleep when I'm dead," House said.

"Yeah, and that'll be a lot sooner than you think, if you keep going like this."

"Your concern for me is truly heartwarming, Cuddy."

"I am concerned," she said sincerely.

He was quiet. His shoulders slumped.

"Do me this one favor?" she said. She went to the windows, closed the blinds.

"Just put your head down on the pillow and close your eyes. Just for 10 minutes."

"You're not my mother," he said.

"I know, but it doesn't take a mother to see that you're running on empty."

It was true, he was exhausted. He was on the verge of passing out. And it was clear that her plan was beginning to work. He looked emotionally spent, defeated, _this _close to submitting to her every command.

"I don't want to be alone," he said finally, pitifully.

"I'll stay with you until you fall asleep," she said.

"You promise?" he asked, his eyes at half-mast.

"Yes," she said.

She pulled up a chair next to the bed, fluffed the pillow. He got back under the covers, closed his eyes.

Almost without thinking, she put her hand on his forehead, which was coated with a thin film of sweat, smoothed his hair.

"House, please promise me you won't let it get bad like this again," she said.

"I promise," he said wearily.

"Good," she said. "I'm holding you to that."

The feel of her hand on his forehead broke down the last of his defenses.

"Give me another chance, Cuddy," he pleaded in a sleepy voice. "I'll do better…"

"House, we'll talk about this tomorrow. When you're sober," she said.

"Tell me what to do Cuddy. Just tell me what to do and I'll do it . . ."

His voice was almost inaudible now, he was barely conscious.

She looked at him, watched as his breathing got deeper and his chest began to rise and fall. He was asleep.

She kissed his forehead and left.


	2. Chapter 2

"Wake up, sleepy head."

Cuddy reached for House, who was lying beside her in bed.

He didn't stir.

She smiled.

"House, I know that sleep is your favorite pastime—okay, _second _favorite pastime—but it's time to go to work."

She went to give him a little kiss on the cheek. His skin was clammy and cold and he was completely motionless.

She popped up abruptly, looked at him.

His mouth was open and crusted with vomit. She put her hand in front of his face. No breath. She shook him hard, then put her ear to his chest.

"House!" she screamed, shaking him harder.

"House!" She began thumping wildly on his chest.

"Hooooouse!"

"Mama!"

"Mama!"

Cuddy woke with a start.

Rachel was standing next to the bed, in her Dora the Explorer pajamas, holding her binky.

"Mama, why you screaming?"

Cuddy took a deep breath. Her heart was racing. She only hoped she didn't look as agitated as she felt.

"Mama just had a bad dream," she said, scooping Rachel up into the bed and hugging her.

"About House?"

"Why. . .why would you say that?"

"You said his name."

Cuddy sighed.

"It was just a bad dream, sweetie. Nothing to worry about."

"Were there monsters?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"If House was sleeping over, he would save you from the monsters."

Cuddy looked at her daughter ruefully.

"I wish," she said.

#####

"I thought you might need this."

Wilson was standing in her office door, carrying two large coffees.

Cuddy looked up.

"You're a lifesaver," she said, smiling at him wearily.

He handed her the coffee.

"So. . . did you go see him?"

"I did," she said.

"And. . ."

"And it's a good thing you told me what to expect," Cuddy said.

"Forewarned _is_forearmed," Wilson said.

"Yeah. . .actually a weapon might not have been such a bad idea.. . .He was in bed with these two skanks."

Wilson cringed.

"Gross," he said. "Sorry you had to see that."

"Yeah. . .it was traumatizing. And he was a mess. Stoned out of his gourd. Barely able to stand up straight."

"Of course, House can't just have a meltdown after a breakup. He has to have the mother of all meltdowns."

"He's always been a go-getter," Cuddy cracked.

"So what did you do?"

"Kicked out the skanks, flushed the vicodin, cleaned the room. I was like one of those people who cleans up after a crime scene."

Wilson gave a small laugh.

"And did you guys. . .talk?"

"Talk? I wouldn't call it talking. Mostly he insulted me, until he finally collapsed from exhaustion and I put him to bed."

Wilson smiled at her gratefully.

"Thanks Cuddy. I knew you'd be able to help him."

"I'm worried about him. I had nightmares last night. They were vivid. I scared the shit out of Rachel."

"I'm sorry."

"On the bright side, he did say he was coming in today," Cuddy said.

"I'll believe that when I see it," Wilson replied.

"He promised."

"Oh, he promised? Well, in that case, I'm sure that House. . ."

"Is standing in the doorway right now," House said.

They both looked up.

"You're here!" Cuddy said.

"I was just telling Cuddy that I was sure you'd show up," Wilson said.

"Yeah. .. was eavesdropping a little longer than that," House said. "It's funny. Your actual conversations sound exactly the way I always imagined them in my head."

"So how are you feeling, House?" Wilson said, sizing up his friend.

"About as good as I look, I'd warrant."

"That bad, huh?"

It was true: Even by his own low grooming standards, House looked like shit.

"Well, I'm detoxing because the cleaning lady flushed all my vicodin," House said, giving Cuddy an arch look.

She braced herself.

"She also tucked me in," he added gently. "She is nothing if not a full service cleaning lady."

"I'm going to leave you two alone," Wilson said, sensing it was time for his exit. "House, I'll talk to you later. Try not to forge any prescriptions in my name before lunch."

"I'll do my best."

And they were alone.

"Sooo. . ." House scratched the top of his head, creating even more of bed head effect than he already had going.

"Sooo.. ."

"It's distinctly possible that I owe you an apology," House said.

"An apology?" Cuddy said, a bare hint of sarcasm in her voice. "What on earth for?"

"I think I may've called you a bitch," he said, with a guilty smile.

"Three times, but who's counting?"

"And then there were the Barbie Twins."

"They were delightful . . . Really stimulating conversationalists."

"And there might've been some unseemly begging at the end there," House said.

"You were only semi-conscious," she said, trying to make him feel better.

"So yeah, sorry," he said.

"Apology accepted," she said. She had an urge to hug him but didn't want to give him the wrong idea. Instead she said, "Are you going to be okay, House?"

"I'm fine. My team is assembled. My head is throbbing. My leg is killing. And my heart is broken. It's just like old times!"

He meant it to be a joke, but it came across like another accusation.

"House, I. . ."

"We don't have to get into this now," he said. "Look, I really appreciate that you came to see me last night and I. . .I'm sorry that I gave you nightmares."

"Christ, how long _were_you standing there?"

"Long enough. Is Rachel going to be okay?"

"She's fine. I told her I was dreaming about monsters."

"I'm not that bad, am I?"

She smiled.

"Has she. . .asked about me?" House said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Not yet. Not really. . .We had chicken a couple of nights ago and she told me she was saving you the drumstick."

"That's my girl," he said softly.

"And then, of course, she heard me screaming your name."

"Sex dream?" he said, cocking an eyebrow.

She hadn't meant to tell him that. It just popped out.

"Not quite," she said. "It was just. . .something bad happened to you in the dream."

"Oh," he said.

They exchanged a look.

"I guess I better get back to the Cisco Kid up there," he said.

"Good," she said. "And House? Considering that you look like you just escaped from a Turkish prison, you should probably keep a low profile today. No clinic duty."

"Darn! And this was the one day I actually wanted to do clinic duty!"

"Really?"

"No."

#######

After the differential, Masters lingered awkwardly in House's office. She stood there, silently, and for so long, he was forced to finally address her.

"What's on your mind, Masters?"

"I just. . .wanted to know if you're okay," she said.

"Okay with your plan to do a complete bloodwork? Yes. That's why I ordered it."

"No. . .I, uh, meant about Dr. Cuddy."

"I know what you meant, Masters."

"I just want to say, I know how much you loved her and I. . .think she's behaving very rashly. . .no one should make impulsive life decisions after a traumatic health scare."

"Masters. . .when did I give you the impression that you and I were talkin' buddies?"

Masters looked down at the floor. Her face was red.

"Never," she said.

"Exactly. Here's how this works. I tell you what to do and you do it. We don't discuss your feelings. And we certainly don't discuss mine."

"I made a mistake," she said. "It won't happen again."

"Good."

"I'm just. . .really sorry, House."

"Go draw your blood, Masters."

######

That night, there was a knock at House's hotel door.

He opened it.

Cuddy was standing there, holding a patient file.

"Is it safe?" she asked, peering into the room. It was empty.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"You want the real reason. ..or the excuse I came up with on the way over?"

"I assume that file is the excuse?"

"Yeah," she said, handing it to him.

He opened it, scanned it.

"Looks like a pretty cut and dried case of ulcerative colitis," he said.

"That's what we figured when we. . .sent the patient home 5 hours ago," Cuddy said.

"So the real reason you're here?"

"To check up on you, of course."

"What, did Wilson draw the long straw or something?"

"Wilson doesn't even know I'm here. This is all me."

"Well, come in. See for yourself," he said, gesturing around the room. "This hotel room is rated PG tonight—except for the pay-per-view porn, of course."

She stepped inside. The room was pretty much as she'd last left it—no signs of fresh debauchery. The TV was on, but he had been kidding about the porn. It was some black and white movie, Hitchcock maybe.

"No vicodin?" she said, looking at his eyes.

"No vicodin," he said. "You wanna give me a complete physical to verify?"

"I trust you," she said.

"Do you?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered firmly.

"I was. . . just about to order room service," he said. "You want something? They have a sautéed scallop thing you might like."

The fact that he had taken note of her favorite food on the menu gave her a little pang.

_Don't get sucked in, Lisa_.

"No, I . . .probably should go," she said.

"Suit yourself," he said.

"How much longer do you think you'll be staying here?"

"Why do you care?"

"Because I feel like . . .you can get into some fresh trouble if you stick around here."

"I like it here," he said. "No ghosts."

He looked at her.

"Alright. . .well, goodnight then."

She went to give him a hug goodnight, but he almost immediately found her mouth, began kissing her. She pushed him off.

Of course, she had given him the wrong idea. Of course.

"House, no! It's not like that."

"Why not?" he said, going to kiss her again. She took a step backwards.

"Because we broke up."

"Break up sex," he said. "It's a thing."

"Not between us," she said.

"You came all the way down here," he said, leaning in and whispering: "You might as well get banged for your buck."

"I'll manage," she said.

He shrugged. "Okay. . .Just seems a waste of a perfectly good hotel room."

"I truly can't imagine anything less appealing than having sex with you on a bed where you've been entertaining a revolving door of whores."

"They do clean the sheets, you know," he said.

"You're disgusting," she said.

As she turned to leave, he grabbed her hand.

"Those women meant nothing to me," he said earnestly. "You know that, right?"

"I know House," she said. It was her curse: She understood him too well. Most women would be furious with him. But she knew the hookers were just like the alcohol and the pills: another way to deaden the pain.

"I didn't even kiss them on the mouth," he said.

It was his—admittedly screwed up—version of a romantic declaration.

"Okay," she said.

"Okay," he said.

He let go of her hand and she left.

######

Later, she dreamt about House again. But it wasn't a nightmare. He was playing the piano—something soft, a French lullaby—and he was wearing a tux. She had crawled on his lap and slowly unbuttoned his pants and they had sex while he continued to play, until he got lost in act and the music turned into a series of arbitrary, rhythmic notes. And he held her tightly and whispered dirty things in her ear and told her how much he needed her and loved her and how she was the only woman in the world for him.

Thankfully, this time, when she called out House's name in the dark, her daughter didn't wake up.

########

Like a moron, she went back to his hotel room the next night.

"I'm seeing you more now then when we were dating," he said, letting her in.

He gave her a knowing look.

"Any fake files for me to review?" he said. "Any skinned knees you want me to confirm?"

"No," she said. "I'm comfortable with the fact that I'm simply here to check up on you again."

He spread out his arms, as though prepared for inspection.

"How do I look?"

"You look good," she said.

It was true. The worst of the detoxing was clearly behind him. He looked like his normal, irresistible-to-Cuddy self.

"So do you," he said.

They stared at each other.

He grabbed her face and kissed her and this time she let him.

In moments, they were on the bed, going at it. And Cuddy felt guilty and dirty and inordinately aroused, all at the same time.

_So this is what breakup sex feels like_, she thought.

Afterwards, he held her in his arms but she squirmed away.

"This was a mistake," she said.

"Of course," he said. He reached between her thighs. She slapped his hand away.

"We're not doing it again," she said.

"No, never," he said, nibbling on her ear. She sat up.

"I'm serious House. . .I already regret it."

"I don't," he said mopily.

She got of bed, began to get dressed.

"I've got to go," she said.

He watched her get dressed, his head propped on his arm.

"Aren't you going to tuck me in again?" he said.

She didn't answer him, just left the room and walked hastily toward the elevator, as though fleeing the scene of a crime.

#######

"Oh Julia, I fucked up."

She was sitting at her dining room table drinking red wine with her sister. Rachel was already in bed.

"What now?" Julia said warily.

"I slept with House."

"You've got to be kidding me."

Julia looked supremely annoyed. She had never liked House.

"I wish."

"Lisa, why on earth would you do such a thing?"

"Because I still love him. Because I can't resist him. Because I'm . . . weak."

"But you had good reasons to break up with him. Good _rational_reasons that involved your own well-being and the well-being of your daughter. Why would you jeopardize that?"

"I know," Cuddy moaned. "It's not even like I want to get back together with him. . .If I could just manage to stay out of his hotel room."

"You realize that he's an addiction, don't you?" Julia said. "As insidious as alcohol or gambling or. . .vicodin."

"I know," Cuddy said, putting her head in her hands. "I need a 12-step program. Step One: Stop having sex with him."

"That would be a good start," Julia agreed.

"Step two: Stop dreaming about him."

"The subconscious is hard to control. Should be more like Step 10."

"Step three: Stop trying to save him."

"What you need is a support group: Women Who Have Dated Gregory House and Lived to Talk About It. The problem is, no such person exists."

"Actually," said Cuddy, getting an idea. "She does."


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: There are far too many intelligent women featured in this story for it to be affiliated with House or Fox._

Cuddy had been intentionally vague on the phone, just telling Stacy that she needed some "advice."

"Legal advice?" Stacy had asked.

"No, something more personal," Cuddy admitted.

They made plans to meet for an 8 pm dinner at a little sushi joint near Stacy's house.

Cuddy was running late, which was rare for her. She was speeding, actually weaving in and out traffic to gain time. House had always accused her driving like Wilson's Great Aunt Mabel. If he could see her now.

As she drove, she found herself contemplating House's type.

There was at least one rather obvious common denominator between herself and Stacy: They were both age appropriate.

Younger women at the hospital—interns, nurses, sometimes even patients—were always throwing themselves at House, mostly because younger women were, well, stupid. They were either completely blinded by his apparently intoxicating blend of baby blue eyes and genius IQ (conveniently overlooking the fact that he was rude, crass, and demeaning) or they thought he was some sort of wounded Byronic figure in desperate need of saving. (Cameron, of course, fell neatly into that second category.)

Either way, House was too smart to go for it. If he wanted a hot little number for sex, he could pay for her. Otherwise, young women—with all their feelings and needs and outsized expectations—just weren't worth the trouble.

Also, and very much to his credit, Cuddy thought, both she and Stacy were successful. House liked them smart and accomplished. Of course, he was never going to find someone as smart as he was—such was his lot in life—but at least he coupled with women who could keep up.

Physically, there were certain similarities between herself and Stacy: Both were brunettes, both pale-skinned, both slender. But where Cuddy was all plains and curves, Stacy was narrow-boned and lithe, the proverbial tall drink of water. Considering how much attention House lavished on Cuddy's breasts and ass—both before their relationship and certainly during it—she thought it was remarkable he was sexually attracted to both of them.

It was their personalities, though, where they really diverged: Stacy was demure, even dainty, a kind of sophisticated Southern Belle. Cuddy was bossy and strong-willed—pure East Coast spitfire.

Inconclusive, Cuddy decided, as she pulled into the restaurant. Two pretty, middle-aged brunettes make not a type.

But she had to admit it. If there was one woman on the whole planet who threatened her—one woman who she felt could realistically compete for House's affections—it was Stacy Warner.

She was 10 minutes late. She cut the engine and rushed in.

#######

"You slept with her, didn't you?"

Right around the same time that Cuddy was meeting Stacy, Wilson and House were in the hotel lounge, having a drink.

"Why would you even say such a thing?" House asked, coughing a bit, and taking a swig of his scotch.

"Because your mood has considerably brightened since yesterday. You're a lot less doomy and gloomy."

"I just decided to let a smile be my umbrella," House said.

"Uh huh," said Wilson.

"Hotel life agrees with me," House insisted.

"I notice that you haven't denied it," Wilson countered.

"Some things are so ridiculous that they're not worth denying."

"Still not a denial," Wilson said.

"Shut up, Wilson."

"Ooooh, good comeback."

Wilson sipped his beer and shook his head.

"I have to hand it to you, House. Most men don't use illicit sex and rampant drug use to lure a woman back into their bed. You have skills, my friend."

"On the hypothetical chance that I did sleep with Cuddy—and this is strictly hypothetical—I wouldn't make the mistake of reading too much into it."

"Why not?"

"Because. . .she couldn't get out my bed fast enough," House said, coming clean. "It was like the room was on fire."

"And yet you're in a good mood," Wilson said.

"Breakup sex with Cuddy is still preferable to no sex with Cuddy," House said, staring into his drink. "I just have to figure out how to turn breakup sex into her taking me back permanently."

"More hookers and pills?" cracked Wilson.

"Something tells me that particular brand of seduction only works once," House said, draining the last of his scotch.

#######

They hugged and kissed and exchanged a few pleasantries about Mark ("doing well") and the hospital ("malpractice suits down 10 percent") and ordered copious amounts of sushi and sake before getting down to business.

"I assume you figured out why I asked you here," Cuddy said, spearing a yellowtail roll with her chopsticks.

"I'm guessing it rhymes with louse?" Stacy said, laughing.

"How did you know?" Cuddy said, laughing back.

"Years of experience."

"And that's. . . well, that's why I wanted to talk to you," Cuddy said. "I want to know. . .how did you . . . get over House? I mean, how did you wash him out of your system for good?"

Stacy's eyes narrowed a bit.

"Why do you ask?"

"For the obvious reason. . .House and I broke up."

Stacy's jaw dropped open. And Cuddy immediately realized she'd made a mistake.

"You didn't know that we were together," she said, watching as Stacy took a moment to collect herself.

"How would I? You and I don't talk anymore. I certainly don't talk to House."

"I just. . .I don't know. I just thought you'd hear through the grapevine I guess."

"What grapevine?" Stacy said. "My grapevine is all about judges having affairs with lawyers. It doesn't extend all the way to Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital."

"I'm sorry, yes. . .House and I have been—well, had been— together for a year."

"It's not all that shocking," admitted Stacy. "There was always a little something between you two. A chemistry. I saw it even back then."

"People were always asking me if I was in love with him," Cuddy said, with a laugh. "I used to get paranoid that people knew we had slept together."

Stacy's jaw dropped open again.

Oh shit.

"Aaaaand. . .you didn't know that House and I hooked up at Michigan," Cuddy said.

"No!"

"Who knew House was so discreet?" Cuddy said. For a second, her mind flashed to the time she was doing in vitro. He actually could keep a secret, she remembered. It was part of his own unique brand of chivalry.

"So you guys, what, dated in college?" Stacy asked.

"No, nothing like that. A one-night stand, after I basically stalked him all semester," she chuckled. "It meant a lot. . . to me. I think I was just another notch in his belt, although he has since revised history and now claims he had feelings for me."

Cuddy thought about that romantic dance to "Time After Time," House in that ridiculous costume. The look on his face when she had left him alone on the dance floor . . . She looked up. Stacy was talking.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" she said.

"I was asking how you two got together this time," Stacy said.

Cuddy had always regretted blabbing to Lucas about the specifics of House's breakdown. She decided to be more vague this time.

"We'd been. . .circling each other for a while, I guess you could say. Our timing was awful. When I was ready for a relationship, he wasn't. When he was ready, I wasn't. . .And then one night, we were just both ready at the same time, I guess. . . I actually dumped my fiancée for him."

"You were engaged?"

"Shortest engagement ever. For about 24 hours."

"Wow."

"Yeah. . .I couldn't keep lying to myself. I had to explore my feelings for House. I loved him, you know? I still love him . . ."

"So do I," said Stacy, somewhat wistfully.

Cuddy looked at her. Not exactly what she was hoping to hear.

"You do?"

"Of course. A part of me will always love Gregory House."

"So that's my question, I guess. How did you move on?"

Stacy shrugged a bit.

"Who says I have?"

"Haven't you? I mean. . .you're married!"

"Did you ever wonder why I left the hospital so abruptly after Mark's treatment?"

"Because Mark was better. I just assumed you were resuming your former life."

Stacy poured herself some sake, then poured a bit more into Cuddy's glass.

"There's more to it than that. . .but we're definitely going to need another round of drinks."

#######

The more Wilson drank, the more convinced he became that House still had a shot to win Cuddy back. But only, of course, if he heeded Wilson's fool-proof advice.

"If you want her, you have to do your best impression of a responsible adult," he said. "Step one: Moving out of this hotel."

"No," House said stubbornly.

"Why not?"

"I like it here. I may never leave. I'm like that little girl from the children's book. The who lives at the Plaza."

"Eloise," Wilson offered.

House looked at him. "That was a test. . . That you just failed."

Wilson raised a finger to defend himself, but instead said nothing.

"I don't know why more people don't live in hotels," House said. "My room is cleaned every day. I have all the pay-per-view porn a boy could want. And they put a chocolate on my pillow every night."

"Well, for one, it's expensive. Does your accountant even know about this? For another thing, it suggests a certain. . .lack of stability," Wilson said.

"I've never projected anything even resembling stability," House countered.

"What about your piano?" Wilson said. "I know you go nuts when you can't play for more than a few days."

"I have an arrangement with the manager of this lounge," House said, gesturing toward the locked baby grand piano in the corner. "He gave me a key. I can play all I want after hours, as long as I keep the practice pedal on."

Wilson shook his head, not without some admiration for his friend.

"How you manage to turn every living and working space into your own private playground is a mystery to me," he said.

"It's a gift," House said.

"But you still need to go home. I mean it. What's Cuddy going to do? Bring Rachel over here so the three of you can eat room service together and jump on the bed and play with your bow and arrow?"

"Sounds like fun," House said.

"House, I'm telling you. The debauched bachelor thing is just not cute anymore. You have to show Cuddy that you've grown up."

House looked at him angrily.

"What do you think I've been doing for the last year of my life?"

######

The plates had been cleared and they had moved from hot sake to shochu martinis.

"People always ask me what Greg was like before the infarction and I say he was exactly the same—but that's not really true," Stacy was saying.

"Yes, he was arrogant, cocky, abrasive—all those things. But on some essential level, he believed he could be happy. And, more importantly, at least as far as our relationship was concerned, he believed he could make me happy."

Cuddy was listening intently. She had half a mind to take notes. Instead, she nodded.

"After his leg, well, he was so bitter. So angry. He was actually cruel to me. He had never been cruel before. It was like every one of his worst qualities was amplified. And that secret optimism he had, it just disappeared."

Cuddy tried to remember what House had been like at Michigan. He was such a glamorous figure to her back then. She idolized him. But in truth, she really didn't know him.

"It was easy to leave him the first time," Stacy continued. "Well, okay, not easy. But I knew what I had to do. He pushed me away, and I allowed myself to be pushed. But then when Mark got sick and I saw him again after all those years, all those old feeling rushed back. I realized that I had never fully gotten over him and that we'd never had a proper closure."

Stacy inhaled a bit, like she was about to say something out loud she had never uttered before.

"We slept together," she said evenly. "I cheated on my husband with House."

Now it was Cuddy's turn to be stunned.

"On that business trip?" she said. "To Baltimore?"

"No. . .right after that. But that was when the groundwork was laid, so to speak. . .we kissed in my hotel room. In classic Greg fashion, he was too obsessed with the puzzle of his current case to go through with it."

"Huh," Cuddy said, trying to think of a time when House was too distracted by a case to have sex with her. She couldn't think of one.

"And after that, I was thinking we might, you know, have an affair. It all sounds so sordid now, in retrospect. My husband is in a wheelchair and I'm sleeping with my ex boyfriend, who happens to be the doctor who cured him. But Greg has this way of making me do things I wouldn't normally do."

"Been there, done that," Cuddy said sympathetically.

"The unexpected thing was, Greg didn't want to have an affair," Stacy said. "He's traditional, in his own way. It was pretty much an all or nothing proposition for him. So I chose Mark. . . at first. And then I realized that, while I loved my husband, it was Greg I wanted more. It was the most selfish thing I've ever done. I picked Greg."

"I'm clearly missing something here," Cuddy said.

"He rejected me," Stacy said, shaking her head at the memory. "Well, not so much a rejection as an old refrain rearing its ugly head: He told me he couldn't make me happy. And that I was better off staying with Mark. . .So I did."

"Wow," said Cuddy. "I had no idea."

"So there's your story."

"That's quite a story," Cuddy said.

"Lisa, you asked me for advice so here it is: Stay with him. He's infuriating. He's immature. He's selfish. And he's going to ruin you for other men. You'll never meet anyone as challenging, as exciting, and as sexy as Gregory House. If I had to do it all over again, I would've stuck it out. Being with House at his worst is still better than not being with him at all. And you're talking to a happily married woman."

"Really?" Cuddy said. She was incredulous.

"Really," Stacy said. "I wish someone had given me this advice 10 years ago."

"But there is a difference between you and me," Cuddy said. "I have a child. This other life that I'm responsible for."

"Does he love Rachel?"

Cuddy thought about that for a second. "Yeah," she said finally. "I think he does."

"Then you can make it work," Stacy said.

Cuddy propped her face on her hand, looked at Stacy fondly.

"You were supposed to tell me how to wash him out of my hair," she said.

"Sorry, there's no magic shampoo."

They both laughed. They finished their martinis, kissed goodbye, promised to stay in better touch, and called it a night.

######

Late that night, there was a knock at House's hotel room door.

He sprang up, already gloating. Didn't even bother to grab his cane as he limped across the room and opened the door.

"So you couldn't stay away!"

It was a beautiful brunette, but not the one he had anticipated.

Julia.

"I think you have the wrong room," he said.

"Can I come in?" Julia asked.

He frowned a bit, but stepped aside so she could enter the suite.

"Can I interest you in a tiny bottle of chardonnay or 12 dollar bag of peanuts?" he asked, jokingly.

"I'm good," she said, all business.

"Okay," he said, gesturing for her to sit. "But before this gets embarrassing for either of us, I should say: I only have eyes for the elder Cuddy sister."

"Hilarious as ever, House," Julia said.

House was trying to decide if he thought Julia was pretty. It was hard to see past the blinding hatred in her eyes.

"What can I do for you, Julia?" he asked finally.

"I want you to stay away from my sister."

So it was out in the open now.

"I see you share Cuddy's knack for cutting to the chase," House said. "But I have a question: Why on earth would I stay away from her?"

"Because you love her."

"That's generally considered a reason to stay near someone," he said.

"Let me ask you something, House."

"Shoot," House said. "But not literally." He peered under her seat. "You don't have any concealed weapons do you?"

"If you had a sister, would you want her to date you?"

"Of course not! Ewww! That would be incest!" House said.

But she didn't laugh.

"You know what I mean, House."

"I can't answer that. This isn't about me and some hypothetical sister. This is about me and Cuddy. And we work together. Or at least we did. And I'm hoping we will again."

"Even though you make her miserable," Julia said.

"I don't make her miserable," House said.

"Actually, you do. Trust me, I'm the one she called in tears—for every lie you told her at work, for every friend of hers you alienated by being a jerk, for every banquet dinner you missed, for every time you disappointed Rachel . . ."

"When did I disappoint Rachel?" he interrupted.

"Really House?" Julia looked at him, if possible, with even more contempt than before. "How bout when you didn't come to 'Daddy and Me' day at daycare."

"I'm not her daddy," House said.

"She wanted you there."

"When else?"

"And how bout the time you told her that you didn't want to hear about her friend's vacation to Disney World because it was boring."

"It was boring," House said. "I didn't even know that kid."

"How bout all the times you told her you couldn't play with her because your leg hurt?"

"My leg does hurt!" House said. "I'm a cripple, remember?"

But he knew she was right. He sometimes used the leg as an excuse because he didn't feel like crawling on the floor with blocks and coloring books.

"You know, House. I could almost deal with all that—Lisa forgave you every time, so why shouldn't I?" Julia said. "But when I think about her being sick. When I think about my sister all alone in that hospital room, thinking she was going to die—and you just letting her lie there—I could actually murder you, House. I really could."

His mouth dropped open. He didn't know what to say.

"Jesus, I was just kidding about the concealed weapon," he said finally, lamely.

"You know what a mensch is?" Julia continued. "It's a Jewish word for a good man."

"I know what it is," House said testily.

"Are you a mensch, House? Are you?"

He blinked, felt something catch in his throat.

"No," he said. "I guess I'm not."

"Exactly. And my sister deserves a mensch, wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes," he said.

"What she doesn't deserve is a selfish prick like you."

There was only so much of this character assassination House could take.

"Do you feel better now?" he said angrily. "Got that all out of your system?"

"No," Julia said, staring at him defiantly. "I won't feel better until I know you're completely out of her life."

"I hate to point out the obvious, Julia," House said. "Your sister dumped me. We're not together anymore."

"But I know she's been seeing you, House. And I know she's thinking of taking you back."

Normally this would qualify as good news. But he didn't know what to think now. He felt vaguely ill.

"Are we done here?" he asked.

"We're done," she said, standing up. He didn't bother walking her to the door.

"Thanks for dropping by!" he said. "It was a true delight."

But he was going through the motions of his trademark sarcasm at this point. He just felt depressed.

So there was something else Julia and her big sis had in common: They both had the ability to make House feel like complete and utter shit.

#######

The next night, around 10 pm, the more pleasant Cuddy sister showed up at his hotel room.

She was carrying a bottle of champagne.

"I come bearing gifts," she said, slightly sheepishly.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, letting her in.

"I've had a revelation," she said.

"What kind of revelation?"

"That I miss you, House."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I made a mistake. I need you in my life. I want you back. . .if you still want me."

She gave the confident smile of a woman who knew that asking for his approval was a mere formality.

So she was shocked—stunned really—when he said this:

"I'm not sure that I do."

"What?"

"I'm not sure that I do . . . want you."

"You've got to be kidding me," she said, putting the champagne down.

"No . . . I've given this a lot of thought, too. The thing is, Cuddy, the whole time we were together, I kept trying to be this man that I wasn't. This perfect boyfriend guy. But no matter how hard I tried, it was never good enough for you. And then, at the first sign of trouble, you dropped me like a bad habit. These past few days at the hotel have reminded me, I like my freedom. I like being the boss of me."

"I'm. . . I'm speechless," she said. She felt her face getting hot. "I thought this was what you wanted, too."

"I don't think it is," he said, looking at her unblinkingly.

"You're just scared," she said, reaching for him.

He backed away.

"This isn't fear, Cuddy. It's realism. I just decided this whole domesticity thing isn't for me. I'm more the . . . debauched bachelor type. What was I going to be? Your husband? Rachel's dad? I mean, look at me. I live in a fucking hotel."

"It's just temporary," Cuddy said. She still was having a hard time processing what he was saying. "House, just sleep on it, okay? I blindsided you. I. . . thought it would be a happy surprise, but I didn't consider your feelings. You're in shock. Just take a night, and think about it, and we'll talk in the morning. We can keep our champagne on ice."

She attempted to give another smile.

"Cuddy, I've already thought about it. I'm moving on. You should too."

Her eyes welled with tears.

"Don't you love me?" she asked, somewhat pathetically.

"No. I'm not sure I do anymore," he said.

She was beginning to feel desperate.

"I don't understand! What did I do wrong?"

She reached for him again, tried to hug him, but he peeled her off. "Nothing. I just. . .woke up."

"House!" she cried. Her voice was almost a plea.

"I think it would be better if you left," he said.

She looked at him. Anger now mixed with her tears. "Screw you, House!" she said. "Go to hell!"

And for the second time in less than a week, she took off like the room was on fire.

House watched her leave.

"Fuck," he said, into the empty space.

######

Cuddy called Julia from the car in tears. She was so worked up, she could barely get the words out. Julia caught a garbled "House" and possibly "hotel" and something that sounded liked "campaign."

"I'll meet you at your place," she said.

They arrived at the same time. Cuddy had stopped crying by now, but her mascara was smeared and her face was streaked with dried tears.

"Oh sweetie," Julia said, hugging her. She took the key from Cuddy's shaking hand and let them both in.

"Where's Rachel?"

"With mom," Cuddy sniffed. "I thought I was spending the night with House."

"Tell me what happened?"

"He turned me away," Cuddy said. "I went to his room to tell him that I wanted to be with him and he turned me away. He said he didn't love me anymore."

The mere recounting of the conversation set Cuddy off again. She started to cry.

"Oh sis. Don't cry," Julia said, hugging her again. "I know it doesn't feel this way now, but you're better off without him. He's a wreck. With the drugs and the whores and that ridiculous bow and arrow."

Cuddy froze for a second in her sister's embrace. She stopped crying.

"Bow and arrow? How do you know about that?" she said.

Julia hesitated. "You told me," she replied nervously.

"No, I didn't," Cuddy said, pulling away. And suddenly she knew: "You went to see him, didn't you?"

Julia sighed.

"Yes, I did," she admitted.

"Julia, what did you do?" Cuddy demanded.

"I told him that you deserve a better man, because you do, Lisa. And I told him to stay away from you."

"You had no right!"

"I only did it because I love you and I want what's best for you," Julia said.

"He's what's best for me," Cuddy said.

"I know you think that now, but you're wrong. He's damaged goods, Cuddy. He's screwed up. He lives in a very dark place. And he'll drag you and Rachel down with him."

Cuddy grabbed the keys from the end table where Julia had dropped them and glared at her.

"Maybe I wanted to be dragged down with him!" she yelled. "From now on, stay the hell out of my personal life!"

She stormed out.

######

In the hotel lobby, Cuddy heard the muffled sound of someone playing the blues on the piano. Something about the tune, and the mournful style of play, was familiar.

"Is that piano coming from the lounge?" she asked the concierge.

"Yes," he replied.

"Isn't the lounge closed now?"

"Yes, but one of the guests has special permission to use it after hours. "

And in that instant, she knew it was House.

"I think it's a friend of mine," she said. "Do you mind if I go check?"

"Go ahead. The door isn't locked."

"Thank you," she said.

She walked to the lounge, let herself in. The lights were off, except for a small light above the piano. The figure at the bench was in shadows. He was hunched over a bit, playing a very sad song.

She sat down next to him.

He started.

"Cuddy, what are you doing here?" House said. His pupils were wide as saucers. The remaining blue of his irises reflected the gentle light.

"You're an idiot," she said.

"What?"

"I know that Julia came to see you. And I know what she said."

His face looked pained.

"Everything she said was true," he said quietly. "She said you deserve someone better than me."

"Then she's an idiot, too," Cuddy said.

"But I'm no good for you," House said, contemplating his hands, which were still perched on the piano keys. "I . . . make you cry."

"Yes, you do," she admitted. "But you know when I cried the most, House? That night we broke up and then again tonight. I'm miserable when we're apart."

"You're miserable when we're together," he countered.

"No," she said firmly. "I'm not. I mean, yeah, okay, sometimes I am. But you also make me happy, House. You make me so very, very happy."

"I do?" he said.

"Yeah," she said. She turned his chin toward her, kissed him.

Reluctantly, he kissed her back. He stared at her searchingly.

"I . . . didn't mean what I said before," he said finally, his eyes pooling with tears. It occured to her that she had never seen House cry before. "You know I'll never stop loving you."

"I know. I love you, too." She gave a small, weary smile, put her head on his shoulder. "So I guess we're stuck with each other."

They stayed like that for a while. Then she slowly rearranged herself so that she was straddling him on the piano bench.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Play something," she said, kissing him one more time.

"What?" he said.

"Just humor me and play something."

He started to play. She didn't recognize it at first. And then she did: "Time After Time."

She slowly unbuttoned his pants and they had sex while he continued to play, until he got lost in act and the music turned into a series of arbitrary, rhythmic notes.

And he held her tightly and whispered dirty things in her ear and told her how much he needed her and loved her and how she was the only woman in the world for him.

And it was just like her dream, only better. Because it was real.


End file.
